"I see," said Jimmy. "You are undoubtedly right. I shall have to soften it down to a dozen thousand, or something like that."
"Yes," said Ned; "soften it down. When that's done, the poem will be perfect; there won't be a single fact misstated in it."
At this point, Phaeton said he thought we had staid as long as we ought to, and should be going.
"I wish, Jimmy," said Ned, "you'd let me take this poem and read it to Jack-in-the-Box. I know he would enjoy it."
"I've no objection," said Jimmy. "And if you can find time some day to print it for me, here's two dollars to pay for the job," and he thrust Ned's money back into his hand.
"All right!" said Ned, as he saw that Jimmy would not accept the money, and yet did not want to refuse it rudely. "We'll try to make a handsome job of it. Perhaps some day it will be printed on white satin, and hung up in the Emperor of China's palace, like—whose poem was it Father told about the other day, Fay?"
"Derzhavin's," said Phaeton.
"Yes, Derzhavin's, whoever he was," said Ned. "And this one of Jimmy's ought to have a horseshoe embroidered in gold thread on the corner of the satin. But those funny ladies with slant eyes and little club feet will have to do that. I suppose they haven't much else to keep them busy, as they're not able to do any housework. It might have a small gold horseshoe on each of the four corners, or it might have one big horseshoe surrounding the poem. Which do you think you would like best, Jimmy?"
"I've no choice; either would suit me," answered the poet.
"Good-bye, Jimmy!"